The Puppet Show
by rinaissance
Summary: There is a difference between resignation and contentment, Cagalli thinks, as she convinces herself that a life without them can be just as wonderful, and that loving Athrun Zala does not mean needing him. / Post Destiny AxC, DxM
1. The Jigsaw Puzzle

I felt a strong desire to give myself proper closure from this fandom. And so.

**Disclaimer: **If the rights to GS/D were in my possession, Gundam SEED Destiny would have never graced this planet. Ever.

Also, imagine you're reading a series of fragmented drabbles all twisted into one.

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><p><strong>THE PUPPET SHOW<strong>  
>By: rinaissance<p>

Of all people, she, the Queen, remains as Fate's most favoured pawn. In which Cagalli Yula Athha learns to stand firmly on her makeshift normality, despite the gaping holes. Post Destiny.

.

Prologue: The Jigsaw Puzzle

.

"_I went through this before. I will be fine," Cagalli assured her brother, for what could be the last time, in many years to come. _

_Kira stared for a moment and a hesitant smile passed his face. Cagalli gave him a sighing grin, before leaning over to his welcoming arms. "Do not show your face around here, at least not until you have Kira junior or little Lacus in tow," she warned playfully, smiling against his shoulders. _

_Cagalli turned to the man beside her twin. "And you," she poked Athrun's chest, "No more self-destructive stunts, okay?" _

_He nodded. Bewildered green eyes bore into her. _

_Cagalli knew in that instant - (although she could not quite fathom how his eyes screamed louder than the intercom calling all passengers for boarding) - that there would be no more promises broken or awkward marriage proposals or shy kisses to be shared between them. _

_Athrun had gently swept her into his arms. Cagalli buried her face on the nook of his shoulder. _

"_Take care," she said._

"_You too."_

o

She basked bitterly in the familiarity of her current circumstances.

This _familiar_ setup had reminded her of the aftermath of the First War.

Cagalli had adopted the role of a fireman. Athrun had played catch with his father for the first time. Kira had built a graveyard in his head. And Lacus, in turn, had sung lullabies for the lost souls that haunted all of them.

They had been too busy _then_.

Cagalli had no time to chug down ice cold water. Athrun had no time to blink lest he missed a ball aimed to kill. Kira had no time to bandage his sore hands from all the grave digging. Lacus had no time to breathe when her lullabies changed keys.

And like before, they - _Chief Representative Athha, Councilman Zala, Commander Yamato, Chairwoman Clyne_ - were still busy _now_.

And by habit more than logic, Cagalli resumed the role of a fireman, reminding her of when she first held her head high up, in the middle of a nation set ablaze, armed with a fire extinguisher, and garbed in blotches of peppered ashes and greasy dried tears.

Once again, she devoted life in lugging the red pressurised vessel and putting out flames single-handedly, still refusing to cry for help, even when rubble shooting like meteors went to her direction. After all, she tried reasoning out to those who had offered help, no one courageous enough could endure the cloak of a warmth that kills, save she.

One week since she bid _them_ goodbye.

Not once had she felt the faintest bout of longing in their absence.

o

"_I'm sorry it took me a week to contact you. Things have been busy here in PLANTs."_

_Kira called. Lacus smiled apologetically, standing close behind him. Amber eyes travelled across the screen, like they usually would when their owner marvelled at the extent of the sea, as if beyond the sparkling blue stretching infinitely, there she would find where the horizon kissed such a monstrosity. _

_Kira started off with a barrage of excuses, apologies, and Cagalli's thoughts wandered into forbidden territory. _

_I'm sorry. _

_I'm sorry, excuses, apologies. _

_Never greetings or hello's or how are you's. _

"_It's fine. You don't have to be sorry," she replied. _

_Although what she really wanted to say was: "I am fine. I miss you and Lacus," she would pause and would reconsider but would add it anyway, "And Athrun." _

o_  
><em>

The uncanny resemblance of this life with the one from years ago, elicited a mixed response from her. It was tedious, but it was _familiar_, and with this came an assurance that this burden too, would pass in due time.

Once the flames had been successfully put out, Cagalli immediately enlisted the help of a dustpan and a brush. Dressed in a mixture of sweat and ashes that felt like sandpaper against her skin, she set out on a new mission. The charcoal-black carcasses of buildings once standing erect and unperturbed, deterred her not. With knees bent down, she began sweeping the ashes - the remnants of the fire that left the past, nonexistent; the present, charred; and the future, an eternal urn.

The days felt years. But no longer did she settle for dreams of ice cold water or a small stretching session to ease her pelvic muscles. The days still felt years, but at least, she thought, there was enough time to breathe.

One month since she last felt _them_ within her reach.

And in between the smallest exercises and wiping off the dusty particles that stung her eyes, she had imagined Athrun's comforting smile, Kira's knowing eyes and Lacus' mirthful chuckle.

One, _month._

"Merry Christmas," she sang, in the hollowness of a house that greeted back, with a voice identical to hers.

o

_She flinched when she saw his face flash on the screen. _

_The reception was clear. There was no static in his voice. _

"_Everything okay?" asked Athrun, eyebrows knitted together._

_Cagalli could only look far ahead, secretly chiding herself for failing to mask the surprise in her features._

"_Yeah," she said with a small smile. She pursed her lips into a tight line, as if reluctant to let the words she had been keen on saying, burst from the amount of pressure she had initially used to keep them contained. Eventually, the words died along with the length of time that had passed in silence. "Everything okay on your end?" she croaked._

"_Yeah."_

_The silence loomed for - _

_Cagalli counted. _

_- she had lost count. _

o_  
><em>

She almost smelt victory when her hands had become less occupied. Things had been going on well so far. No fire. No ashes. No more running from roaring flames. No more prolonged bending on her knees. Third degree burns were history. The back pains, almost imaginary.

Unlike the ashes, the distances between the heaps of charred rubble were forgivably sparse. Simply a bucket wouldn't suffice to contain the fragments of dead concrete, so - up, up and away, a wheelbarrow to save the day!

Grinning to herself, Cagalli pushed the wheeled contraption like she would a shopping trolley; she sprinted along a small distance, before leaning all her weight against the handlebars, feet hovering above the ground.

Closing her eyes, Cagalli thought she saw Lacus contemplatively torn between a cabbage and an iceberg lettuce, Kira absentmindedly suggesting that he wanted something spicy, and Athrun dejectedly grumbling that he never understood the hype with kebabs and chilli sauce.

Shortly, the wheelbarrow toppled over a cracked pavement and so down, down the road, she fell.

Three months, since.

She dreamed of them occasionally.

o

_They met again during a Peace Conference in Alaska - Cagalli, Kira and Lacus. _

_Once the political leaders of each nation had dispersed out of the conference hall, like water running with torrential speed out of the sewages one stormy night, Cagalli temporarily shed the mask of ORB Chief Representative, gathered the obstructing dressy petticoat and ran to her brother's arms. _

_Lacus laughed with a petite hand slightly above her lips. Ever the graceful lady. _

_Kira blinked a few times, scratched the back of his head, absent-mindedly saying, "Cagalli. You're a girl?" It rightfully earned him a good spanking. Ever the naïve brother. _

_Lacus placed a hand on Cagalli's shoulder. "How are you?" she asked. _

_Cagalli had lost count of the times she choked out, "I'm fine. I'm fine." _

_Many, she guessed. Because Kira had offered numerous excuses and apologies, and none of them seemed to have completely made sense. _

_Finally. "I miss you, guys!"_

_Athrun's absence, left unnoticed. _

o_  
><em>

On her right was the wheelbarrow. On her left was the bucket of ashes she had collected so far. Bang on the middle was a piece of cardboard.

She started with the rubble, examined a couple closely, and noted the irregularity in their shape and texture. Some were ceramic tiles, others were concrete, and a minority were reminiscent of her failed grilled kebabs that went straight to garbage bins. However, despite their differences, they were all oddly familiar; she had seen too much of them in her life. Trashed colonies, mobile suits and space ships. Along with the pestled dead bodies nestling within the deepest mortars of space.

She cleared her thoughts almost immediately and resumed the task at hand.

When the wheelbarrow had been completely emptied with the contents laid out, and clamped together on top of the cardboard, Cagalli felt disappointed. Frustration brewed from within. None of the rubble fit together nicely. A hole there. And there. And another there. Stomping, she reached for the red bucket and tipped the ashes all over the holes.

Pride swelled, so did accomplishment.

"_Well, what do you think?"_

_Lacus clapped. Cagalli, on the other hand, was indignant at how Kira and Athrun had casually pointed out her lack of artistic skills. _

Six months.

She saw them wherever she looked.

o

"_Did Kira call?"_

"_No."_

"_Did Lacus send a letter?"_

"_No."_

_Cagalli hesitated, angled her head down, and when the throbbing in her chest persisted, she swallowed the thick intangible lump on her throat._

"_Athrun?"_

_No one answered._

o_  
><em>

Once the adhesive had gone and patted dry, atop the mound of rubble and ashes, Cagalli had discarded the trowel and called for a renowned framer. She wanted nothing more than having this jigsaw puzzle of rubble and ashes, mounted on the wall.

She cushioned herself on the sofa, breathing heavily.

There were no flames to smother her with warmth, or ashes that prickled her eyes, or rubble that claimed blood from her skin.

_But -_

One year. One, year.

- she cried.

o

_No greetings, how are you's and hello's. _

_No I'm sorry's, excuses and apologies._

_There was a small interference on the screen, squiggly black lines ran horizontally across it, maintaining a distance of an inch in between. _

"_Hey Cagalli," said Kira._

_She raised an eyebrow. _

"_Do you want to spend Christmas here in PLANTs?"_

_The storm had worsened, a whooping sound barrelled on the windows, and unlocked the doors to her balcony. The screen shushed and turned off by itself. _

_Her face waned. _

_It's okay. _

_She had planned on saying 'no' anyway. _

o_  
><em>

The charred jigsaw puzzle roared into life and screamed from the office wall.

For a moment, she stood proudly, until she took notice of the protruding sharp edges of the rubble, an indication that not even the ashes she had carefully splattered in place of the holes was sufficient. But surely the sharp edges wouldn't be a considerable hazard, at least not when a layer of glass stood between them and a casual onlooker.

It was only then when Cagalli squinted her eyes to the glossiness of the light reflecting from the mounted frame that an image caught her eye, far too visible against a backdrop of black.

_Two years._

A greasy face, just like before, minus the flames, the ashes and the rubble and the sweat, stared back at her.

Without second thoughts, Cagalli requested for a frame replacement the next day.

o

"_Come on Cagalli!"_

"_Oh shut it Miriallia."_

"_Tomorrow is a Sunday!"_

"_Fine, fine!"_

"_Beer?"_

_Cagalli almost, almost hollered. _

"_Any will do."_

o

The jigsaw puzzle was back on the wall.

This time, with a matte finish on the covering glass. The puzzle had no longer reflected light.

_Three years._

She stared at the mounted frame and saw nothing.

o

"_Will you marry me?"_

_Once, she mixed blue and yellow in a wooden palette and painted lush green trees._

_Once, she took a midnight trip to the kitchen and mistook the glass of milk for chocolate shake. _

_And so Cagalli wondered if the blueness of his eyes could turn into green, once dabbed with the right amount of sunshine. Or if the yellowness of his hair could turn into dark blue just like hers did at night. Darkness swallowed even the brightest colours, did it not?_

_Maybe._

"_Yes," came her reply. _

[Exeunt]

**Preview, Chapter One: **Some-_no__-_body

She had not seen him for three years, four months - or was it five? - she had lost count.

It was only until she stared at him unflinchingly from across the table that Cagalli understood Miriallia's temporary abandonment of journalistic decorum, nonchalantly preferring the colloquial "ex" to the more eloquent "former", as a means to describe the man before her.

Was there even a need to think of euphemisms or eloquence, she wondered, when not even the sunshine could tamper the heavy feeling that went with knowing, that Athrun Zala only _ex_-isted in her past. An _ex-_tinct memory.

* * *

><p>This prologue was very painful to write and it showed when things started getting sour in the latter half. Granted, the style is exclusive for the prologue only, but still. whines

It had been exactly a year since I last wrote something other than Electronic lab reports; I'd be happy to receive feedback, if you could spare a minute, please?

For complaints on glaring errors and the abuse and misuse of language, form and structure, tomatoes are very welcome. Rotten tomatoes on the other hand, shall be binned appropriately.

See you all next week for the first chapter! Thank you!


	2. Somenobody

(It's the 12th in the UK, but seeing as it's still the 11th in America. My heart and prayers to all of you. 'Never forget.')

A staggering 7000-ish word chapter. I thought I would faint at the end of it.

Thank you to those who reviewed the previous chapter! Much love to all of you!

Extreme apologies for the ridiculous delay, as I had been jumping into various opportunities of earning extra quid before university starts in October.

**Disclaimer: **Gundam SEED / Destiny is not mine.

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><p><strong>THE PUPPET SHOW<strong>  
>By: rinaissance<p>

.

Unlike the many others who had perished under the hands of war, you would live. And like the many others who had wrung themselves free from Death's iron grip and had braved to pick up the pieces left behind, you would be granted a future.

So this would be how peace, _your reward_, oh noble and lucky one, should feel like.

In the mornings, you would only walk and look forwards, would bask in the perfection of the environment you would be exposed to. At night, you would sleep soundlessly, void of any fear, void of haunting ghosts. Then another morning would come and you would walk, admire and sleep, and then another cycle would go on.

There would no longer be a need to look ahead, a need to crane your neck to either side of the long, long highway. The texture of the road against your feet was sainted to a fault, a stretch of gray asphalt trowelled into an immaculate layer of frozen silk. Not even the slightest of crack, or a toothy lump of rock to stumble from. The trees ran omnipresent along the sides, their leaves plump and shining green, their barks and trunks, an earthly coarse brown.

You could even close your eyes for as long as you wanted with certainty that when you open them again, you would be looking at either daytime or night-time. And for once, the absence of the sun no longer was a metaphorical representation of all things evil and unseen. (It _just_ _happened_, an inevitable partof life_.)_

Repeat all these, until infinity.

And should you spend eternity within the confines of this routine, within the frozen layer of gray silk and the long, green line of trees running on both sides, you would be safe.

You would not hurt anymore.

- **Lifted from the second chapter of **_**'On Post-War Reconstruction**_**', the condensed version of **_**Fate**_**'s Decree, dated CE 74**

.**  
><strong>

**Chapter One:**

Some(no)body

ORB Union, May CE 78

There were a couple of hours left before the sun would set. The sky was a soft blue, the clouds were a flurry white, and the sea was a reflection of the sky, the clouds and the sun's warmth intermingled into a flat cluster of diamonds. The summer breeze felt light and feathery against the skin, kissing the most hidden contours of nature and people alike.

Cagalli liked Sunday afternoons. Earlier in her life, she had preferred the idyll comfort of Sunday mornings (being the late riser that she _was_) and had possessed an odd dislike for the day as it approached sunset, for it was a cutting reminder that Monday would soon knock on her door, and with it, came the perils of work.

However, her opinions had changed over time, and there was a spark of excitement that would light up within her at the thought of going to work the next day. Sunday afternoons, Cagalli believed, were best spent, not only on making sand angels against the powdery softness of the seashore, but also on scheming against any of her subordinates - the old scrooges, as Miriallia had kindly named them - who always raised their _concerns_ regarding the way in which she managed her country, without even batting an eyelid to whatever proposition she had in mind, first.

Years ago, some of them had the gall to question her motives, after appointing the long trusted Ledonir Kisaka as Admiral of the Orb fleet, to which, Cagalli had responded a firm: "As far as I am aware _sir_, matters concerning the military is not of your business. It is entirely mine, not as Head Representative but as Supreme Commander of the Orb Forces."

The nerve of the idiots who had risked Orb being burned into ashes once again! Perhaps, if they had half a brain not to leave the majority of their forces to perish after the stunt with the Earth Alliance, she could advertise the vacant post and gone through proper hiring procedures! But alas, most of the high ranking officers were obliterated, bombed, smashed into smithereens during the war, hence the lack of qualified personnel to choose from.

(She was partly at fault, of course, she knew this, but it was a subject that had remained untouched for so many years. Cagalli had to constantly remind herself that the only way left was to go forwards, just so she could avoid any ill thoughts from disturbing her peace.)

In the end, she managed to drill reason through their thick heads and even forced them into waving their white flags.

Ha! They had it coming. Those old scrooges had picked the wrong person to play tug of war with, for Cagalli Yula Athha would not back down, would never back down, against a fight she knew, without a doubt, would crown her as the victor. And so for the last three and a half years since the end of the Second War, she would always emerge from the meeting room of Orb's Parliament Building, unscathed and with a smile on her face.

Suddenly, a thought struck her. Frowning, Cagalli stopped swinging her arms and legs back and forth. She lied. She didn't always wear the crown. And of all the arguments she had to deal with, the most trivial of them all was the one thing she could not win in - concerns regarding the way in which she managed _herself_.

Cagalli shot upright to a sitting position. Shaking, she spoke through gritted teeth, "Those old meddling fools!"

In her restrained anger, Cagalli fell prey to the sling bag swung onto the back of her head.

"Going mad, I see," said an auburn haired young woman, eyes twinkling mischievously.

Cagalli rubbed the back of her head and narrowed her eyes. "Go to hell Miriallia," she spat.

"Why the sour face?" asked Miriallia, as she settled on a spot right to Cagalli's. "Is this how you greet a friend you have not seen for a week?" She stretched her arms upwards then removed her shoes, wriggling her toes free once completely bared.

Cagalli grunted, still with narrowed eyes. She held an outstretched arm. "Any souvenirs from your PLANTs trip?"

"Oh," dragged Miriallia. "Is your ex really this much of a chick magnet?"

Cagalli withdrew her arm. Amber eyes blinked once, twice, before they turned into a wide eyed frenzy. "My what?"

"Athrun Zala, your ex," replied Miriallia with a smile so fearlessly mocking, it nearly froze Cagalli's vocal chords.

"Are you smoking crack Miss Haw?"

Ignoring the sharp look offered in her direction, Miriallia let out a small chuckle. "_Your ex,_" she emphasised, "Seems to defy all laws of gravity. Women of all ages are gravitated to -" pausing, Miriallia dug inside her bag and tossed a magazine at Cagalli, before making quotation gestures in mid-air, "- this fine specimen of perfection. The reincarnation of Adonis." She pressed with a slight nod, "Turn to page 55."

Cagalli glared apprehensively at the magazine on her lap, while Miriallia revelled in seeing her friend's face creased further, similar to the time-lapse of a paper crumpling under a person's grasp.

The magazine was a compilation of Cagalli's greatest fears rolled into one. Glittering in fuchsia pink with a candy cane like scribble were the words 'Glitter Weekly' and underneath as a tagline, were the words 'Your greatest source of all things glittery' in a comic sans typeface. A tacky name and a tacky tagline for a tacky magazine and Cagalli could not help pity any individual who was ill fortuned enough to be associated with such travesty. Only this time, she wasn't so sure if she should pity the person in the front cover.

"Don't tell me that this, this atrocity, is what Januarius prides itself for," Cagalli sniped. A scowl settled on her features as she tossed the magazine back, missing an inch of Miriallia's face.

"But don't you want to see what the entirety of the female population have been feasting their eyes and fantasies with?," teased Miriallia. "Of _your ex,_" she added slyly.

Cagalli threw her hands in the air. "For the love of Haumea, Miriallia! Athrun is not my ex!"

"But he _is_ your ex. If you must need reminding, he is your _ex-bodyguard_. What on earth are you getting defensive for?" said Miriallia, as a matter of fact-_ly_.

Cagalli was about to scream another string of rebuttal, but could only form a small 'o' when realisation finally sunk in.

"Afraid that I was insinuating something else?" asked Miriallia.

"For a journalist, I would have imagined you to be equipped with a rather broad and eloquent vocabulary. Apparently I am gravely mistaken," said Cagalli, arms crossed. "Ever heard of the word 'former'?"

"Ex has one syllable. Former has two. In this context, they are synonymous," explained Miriallia, dusting the sand off her sleeves. "So why not choose a shorter one?"

In an annoyed huff, Cagalli picked up one of her discarded navy plimsoll and aimed at Miriallia's face once again. Another chuckle erupted as Miriallia dodged the shoe successfully. The silly curve at the corner of her lips seemed to be saying: _Projectiles don't work on me anymore, my dear friend._

Heaving a sigh, Cagalli laid supine and went back to temporarily imprinting herself on the sand. Miriallia did the same. From above, they looked like healthy, flapping birds who had forgotten how to fly.

The silence that lapsed between them was comfortable, the kind that Cagalli felt only came in luxury. The waves crushed against the shore, coolly brushing against the tip of their toes. The birds chirped. The breeze occasionally came with a soothing whisper. The world ran calm. Sunday afternoons were always like this, as mundane as watching the sun rise and set, but assuring nonetheless.

"Are you still grounded?" asked Miriallia, suddenly.

"Yeah. If I go missing for one night, the Admiral will probably send the whole military to barricade all of the clubs and pubs in Orb."

"So, no rebellious drinking for the next few weeks?"

Cagalli grinned. "Not after the stunt I pulled last time."

"Should we try it again?" asked Miriallia. "It's your birthday next week."

For a brief moment, the two ladies smiled at each other, before bursting into fits of giggles.

Cagalli stuck her tongue out. "We should. I booked the whole week off."

The silence that soon fell between them was friendly.

Miriallia Haw, Cagalli found, was a very interesting person.

Years ago, when they were busy fighting for lives lost and for a future all too unclear, Cagalli would never have arrived at this conclusion, quite possibly limiting her knowledge of the auburn haired young woman as 'Kira's good friend' or 'a civilian turned Communications Officer on board the Archangel during the first war' or 'a freelance photographer turned Communications Officer on board the AA during the Second War'.

She had only talked to Miriallia for the briefest of seconds then. Smiling to herself, Cagalli remembered how dull Miriallia's auburn hair looked and how ordinarily the matching aquamarine eyes sparkled. Her sentiments remained the same now. Miriallia was still as ordinary as any photojournalist could get. When she was on duty, she carried her work with outmost concentration. When she was off duty, she retired in her apartment, slept and cooked herself simple meals.

Cagalli liked her. Miriallia was bright, but not overwhelmingly bright with warmth either, so she never smothered her. She stood like a lit candle that held its stance firmly in a room of darkness. Its small fire flickering every now and then, flexibly bending in an odd direction with the sudden gust of wind, but never could it be completely extinguished with such normal measures. A small ray of hope, and yet in itself was a feasible source of comfort. It wasn't suffocating.

Their friendship was built on surprises, Cagalli concluded. She forgot who sought the other first. All she could remember was, a week after the _people_ left for PLANTs three and a half years ago, she had seen Miriallia in the Parliament Building, camera on hand.

It started with a hi and a hello, followed by an agreement to visit Murrue, Mu and Andy on Sunday that week. Then the next time they saw each other that year was just before Christmas. Miriallia had seen her in the city buying presents for the children in the orphanage, with a group of bodyguards in tow. Miriallia had kindly asked her to spend Christmas with her and her family, an offer which Cagalli politely refused.

(Looking back, Cagalli could only laugh bitterly at herself for spending Christmas alone. But she was glad to have learned from her mistakes, because after that humiliating day, the next Christmases were spent with Miriallia and whoever was with her to celebrate the holidays.)

Two months later, the camaraderie between them grew solidly. Miriallia had just turned twenty and she, a few months shy from the same number.

On weekdays, Miriallia would drop by the Parliament Building and would ask Cagalli if she was drowning in paperwork. She would then leave in a hurry, saying that she didn't mean to stay long. They didn't talk over lunch, not during weekdays, at least. Cagalli ran a country and Miriallia ran to capture every fleeting memory of the world; they were busy.

On weekends, they met at fast food chains, at restaurants, at pubs. Sometimes with Murrue, Mu and Andy, and sometimes it was just them two.

_Is it okay like this?_ Miriallia asked at first, referring to the lack of bodyguards tailing after Cagalli's feet. It was a question that Miriallia had used as a greeting, throughout the first year of their weekly meetings, following the Second War. Cagalli had always just flicked her wrist in response.

A year soon after, the question had ceased to arise, the bodyguards completely abandoned, and the barriers they both had built around them, forgotten.

Bickering became a normal weekly activity. Cagalli didn't mind that Miriallia had always taken the liberty of pushing her buttons. She herself had laughed whenever Miriallia's cheeks coloured amusingly _then_ furiously at the mention of a certain Dearka Elsman. Once they had exhausted themselves from throwing insults at each other, they said their goodbyes and see you later's.

And towards their respective responsibilities, they ran. And looked back.

"Cagalli?" said Miriallia, breaking the comfortable silence.

"Hmm?" Cagalli's eyes lingered on the sky.

"I saw them." Her words came to an abrupt halt. Miriallia's voice had lost its usual enthusiasm and was reduced to a croaky sound.

Turning around with feigned nonchalance and the subtlest hint of interest, Cagalli asked in a whisper, "How are they?"

Nervously, Miriallia folded her hands on top of her stomach and fumbled with her fingers. "They're okay," she drawled.

_I saw them_.

Truthfully, it was a statement that caught Cagalli off guard. _Them_ often popped into their conversations. Contrary to popular belief, the subject of PLANTs was not a taboo. _Them_ were friends and acquaintances and hazy connections. They had never considered shunning _them _from their daily lives -

_Hey Miriallia, I've heard Dearka Elsman's been promoted!_

_It seems Athrun's wonderfully adjusting to the life of a politician. Don't you think so too, Cagalli?_

_Lacus is, the Chairwoman isn't she? Then how come she gets to visit amusement parks while I'm stuck in a bar drinking beer with you, in a silly disguise!_

_Kira's so lucky that Lacus finds the time to be with him._

- _them_ were important people.

But when either she or Miriallia started referring to _them_ in pronouns, in a throaty croaky voice no less, something overwhelming would rear its head until they were left swallowed by thoughts - _missing, hoping, wanting -_ best left unkempt.

It would be alright like this. They would touch what they could and would leave those that they could not.

"I'm," Cagalli began in a quiet voice, "Glad."

Like the candle in the dark room, which did its best to illuminate only the areas it could - like Miriallia, Cagalli had learned not to go after things beyond her reach.

"I probably won't be seeing you until Saturday night," said Miriallia, as she lifted herself up to a sitting position.

Cagalli shifted sideways and propped herself on one elbow. Her plain white shirt and black shorts rustled against the sand as she moved. "Enjoy the South African Union."

Miriallia nodded, giving the end of Cagalli's side ponytail a light tug. "Have fun making the old scrooges' political lives a living hell."

Laughter filled the air.

It was okay like this.

They were one with the living dead; they weren't allowed to ask for anything more.

0

Regardless of what her respected employer accused her of being, on days when the Parliament Building depended on diazepam, Emma Browne was not stupid. She could see a storm brew from a thousand mile radius, a skill she developed over the five years she had served under a certain young woman, who bore the word 'danger' on her forehead, in a bright, red uppercase.

"Sir," Emma pleaded, "Please understand. She'll _kill_ me."

A small chuckle erupted from the earpiece of the telephone.

"Emma," said the man familiarly, "I will make sure that you live through the day and the days after." There was a hint of mirth in his assurance, for he had been subjected to the same death threats, from the same person, from a long time ago. Emma knew this all too well.

If she possessed no sense of professionalism, she would have offered the most flowery insults (courtesy of the DANGER woman previously mentioned) to the high ranking official on the other line. But she unfortunately held her work with an esteemed regard, so she went against her plans of verbal harassment and instead, meekly replied, "But Councilman Zala, Representative Athha hates having her schedule changed in such short notice."

"Yes, I am aware. However, I have spoken to Admiral Kisaka and there is nothing to worry about," said Athrun.

"But sir!-"

"Later then, Emma."

BEEP BEEP.

Emma buried her head on the desk, as she normally would on her pillow, after a day's work. Repeatedly, she mumbled the words, "I'm dead, I'm dead."

The theatrical act was not missed by the tall, burly man, who lightly knocked on the wooden table. "You are still alive and well, Miss Emma," said Ledonir Kisaka.

Emma kept her head down. "Sir Kisaka, if by any chance I do not survive this whole ordeal, kindly have my body incinerated and give whatever remains afterwards to my husband." Tilting her head up slightly, she looked at Kisaka through a half-lidded eye. "And tell him that his wife died a noble death."

"Ah," said Kisaka, nodding. "It seems that Councilman Zala failed to assure you of your safety."

"SIR!" exclaimed Emma, the ends of her chestnut brown hair prickled her back, as she stood up in defiance. "I can't believe you postponed your meeting with Miss Cagalli this afternoon, just so she can meet Mr. Zala."

"I see no reason why not," said Kisaka calmly. "Councilman Zala is here only for a couple of hours, before he returns to Carpentaria, and leave for PLANTS again. It will be a friendly visit and I'm sure Cagalli wouldn't mind his company."

Emma looked incredulous. "Wouldn't mind his company? Sir, you do realise that he has not contacted the Representative for more than three years!"

Kisaka sighed. "It is not our business to mind."

"But Sir! I am sure you disapprove of this! I've been working for Miss Cagalli since she assumed political responsibility after the end of the first war! I've been one of the few who knew about then Alex Dino's real identity. I've witnessed enough of their interactions to conclude that theirs was a relationship that went beyond comradeship! Even a blind man could see it, but he left her, Sir Kisaka! Athrun Zala left her!" Infuriated, Emma ruffled her hair, her cheeks flaming red.

"Why the protests?"

"I'm concerned, Sir. I haven't seen or heard Miss Cagalli talk about him for three years. And I'm sure you know this too, that she has not talked properly to her brother or Chairwoman Clyne since, since." She bit her lip. "Since, I don't know anymore. But it's almost as if, she had completely erased them from her memory."

Kisaka smiled a little, thankful for the apparent sincerity ebbing from the woman. Emma Browne was only five years Cagalli's senior and yet, she seemed to have formed a motherly attachment towards their nation's leader, despite the occasional hysterical and comical outbursts. Emma had reminded him of Myrna, who had retired - after much cajoling on Cagalli's part that she should spend quality time with her grandchildren - earlier last year.

He, himself, had been offered the chance to retire from the military to enjoy the newfound peace they had all worked hard for, Cagalli told him. But he adamantly refused, saying that, unlike Myrna, he did not have a home or a family to go back to. It took weeks of convincing her before she finally relented. And on that same day he reminded her of his promise to serve the House of Athha until the last draw of his breath.

_Don__'__t promise me anything Kisaka_, she told him in a low whisper, before flashing him a smile that was as radiant as sunshine. _Or should I say, Admiral Kisaka._

"As I have said, it is not our business to mind." Kisaka placed the folder he was carrying, on top of the silver mesh tray.

Emma had finally calmed down. She slumped back to her chair and rubbed her temples. "Cagalli's not afraid of ghosts, isn't she?"

Despite its randomness, there was a certain heaviness in the question that demanded a response. Was Cagalli afraid of ghosts, Kisaka had wondered about it too, when Athrun Zala informed him that he would be arriving at ORB's main shuttle port from ZAFT's Carpentaria base, come noon today.

"No," he replied with finality. "I believe she isn't." Turning around on his heel, Kisaka bid a polite goodbye to Emma, who had sighed in relief.

Cagalli Yula Athha was not afraid of ghosts. How could she be, when they were the only ones who kept her company throughout the years that had gone by in her make-believe peace.

0

Cagalli wondered if this cyclic routine during weekdays was the case for everyone just as it was for her. (She knew it was the same for Miriallia who had once complained for a full hour on how repetitive her job seemed. Take photos. Write about them. Submit the photo and article. The end. At least she wasn't cooped inside a building the whole day, thought Cagalli.)

Weekday mornings would start with a jerk, a soft curse and a quick glance at the alarm clock that her fist had yet to form an acquaintance with. She would walk to the adjacent bathroom and would exit with a pressed maroon suit and a tight bun of golden hair. Her phone would beep, followed by the hackneyed "Good morning Chief Representative, here is your schedule for today" from her secretary, after which, she would find herself descending the grand staircase of the Athha Manor, into the funereal vehicle heading towards the Parliament Catacomb.

Cagalli meant well, comparing the gray building to one that housed the dead, or in her case, the living dead. It was the most accurate description. Everyone hovered around listlessly, walking along corridors accompanied by the shuffling of papers and endless salutations. Tired, busy, tired, busy.

Ah, yes. She might have implied it beforehand that she looked forward to Monday mornings, but it didn't mean that she reserved no enmity towards her work in general, at least not when her private life was put under scrutiny. The morning started out quite well, until a string of questions concerning her marital status was brought up towards the end of the usual early Monday meetings. Must the other Representatives always stick their sorry asses into her business?

Picking up her pace as she trudged towards her office, Cagalli shook her head. It would do her no good to dwell on such thoughts on a fine Monday morning.

_A fine Monday morning, my ass._ One look at her heavily breathing secretary and she knew trouble boiled someplace near.

"Did you puncture your lungs Emma?" asked Cagalli.

Emma dropped her jaw and scrambled to her feet in panic, before regaining composure. "Good morning Chief Representative Athha."

Cagalli held her hand up. "No need for formalities. It's only us two." She placed a delicate hand on the handle of her office' door, and turned her head halfway around. "Did you and your husband fight again?"

"Pardon?"

"You're usually like this -" Cagalli drew breaths in and out exaggeratedly. "Everytime you had a petty argument with your husband." She winked. "I'd say just give him Browne juniors, isn't that what he has been pestering you about?"

Cagalli sniggered, leaving Emma slightly dumbfounded.

However, the surprise on Emma's features fell and was immediately replaced with a serious frown. At this, Cagalli stopped the taunting act and stared at her secretary.

"Anything the matter?" Cagalli asked.

Biting her lips, "Yes," Emma said cautiously. Cagalli caught the unusual quiver in her secretary's voice, but prodded her to continue with a slight nod. "Erm, you see, Representative, Admiral Kisaka postponed your meeting with him and the newly appointed Captains this afternoon."

It was Cagalli's turn to openly gape at what she heard. Kisaka. Postponed. Meeting. How unusual. Her former bodyguard turned Admiral of the ORB Forces was not one to leave his responsibilities at the last minute.

_Oh shit. _"Is Kisaka injured?" asked Cagalli, slightly panicking. It was the first thought that came to mind. There were no reports of attacks in Orb this morning so Kisaka wasn't hurt, was - ?

"No," replied Emma.

"No?"

Emma shook her head. "Admiral Kisaka had just been here several minutes before you arrived Miss Athha."

Curious, Cagalli asked, "Then why postpone the meeting?"

Letting out a half-cry, Emma held both her arms in a defensive stance. "Councilman Zala will be in Orb by noon and had requested that you have lunch with him at 1300 hours!"

Cagalli's response came in a heartbeat. She barked, voice rising in crescendo, "And on what grounds does Councilman Arsehole Zala think that he can alter my agenda and stick his large head into it as he pleases? Do you know?"

By the time she had said the last part of her tirade, Emma looked as if her soul had slipped away, while Cagalli blinked frantically, as if finally realising the extent of what she just did.

Nervously, Emma squeaked, "I don't know."

Cagalli closed her eyes. There was a sharp intake of breath and a small quiver in her face before she replied, "I shall accept no visitors," in a tone reminiscent of the middle C played pianissimo, but sustained indefinitely. Ordinary. Casual.

The door slammed behind her, leaving the walls shaken and a poor Emma Browne shivering to death.

0

Cagalli took a quick glance at the clock that had now displayed a glaring 12:32.

More than an hour had passed since Emma had informed her of a certain Coordinator's untimely arrival and here she was, uncharacteristically boring holes on the carpeted floor. Cagalli pulled hastily at her hair bun and ran an infuriated hand through the mid-back length blonde tresses.

"I'm dead meat," she said, now clutching desperately at the roots of her fringes. To say that she was shocked was an understatement.

How did one react again when subjected to some paranormal stunt?

Did it involve an erratic heartbeat that doubled in speed in one second, and slowed down five times than normal, in the next? Did it mean being covered in goosebumps and a smouldering coldness that started from the tip of her toes and terrifyingly brimmed at the top of her head?

And if the answer to all of the above was a big, big yes, then she, Cagalli Yula Athha was indeed taking part in a horror reality show.

How was she supposed to take this? True, she and Miriallia often talked about them - Athrun, Kira and Lacus and everyone else - during their spare time, but directly talking _to_ them was another story. For the past three years and a half years, their source of information were merely hearsays, newspaper clippings, television appearances, and sometimes, like yesterday, gossip magazines.

And what was she supposed to feel? The last thing she remembered, she talked to Athrun one month after he left for PLANTs with Kira. And after that? She did not know. Unlike the waltzes and tangos and sambas that she was required to learn and practice prior to a formal ball, this, this meeting with Athrun Zala after Haumea-knows-how-long, was unforeseen. She was left unprepared.

_No rehearsals. _Cagalli chuckled to herself. Was she _even_ supposed to feel anything?

Besides. How should you greet someone who had risen from the dead, anyway?

Cagalli purged the negative thoughts with a long, heavy sigh. She had decided; she would take this in her stride. She would be crowned victor, and would emerge unscathed and with a happy smile plastered across her face.

When the door clicked open, she hastily smoothened the creases of her maroon suit and quickly gathered the length of her blonde hair into a bun, this time, loosely.

When Athrun Zala stepped foot into her office for the first time in years she had forgotten to count, she was no longer Cagalli or Cagalli Yula Athha.

Into the light stepped the Chief Representative of the United Emirates of Orb - prim, proper and poised.

"Good afternoon Councilman Zala," said Cagalli. Her voice was firm but not hardened, inviting but not friendly.

Emerald eyes travelled at her from head to toe, as if there was something amiss and odd in the way she stood.

By the doorway, Emma Browne gulped. "I'm sorry Miss Athha, but Councilman Zala insisted -"

Cagalli interrupted. "It's okay Emma. You may leave us."

In a blink, the door shut, keeping oil and water in a container that bubbled and boiled, but did not mix.

"Good afternoon," greeted he, hesitant at first, but relaxed the next, "Representative Athha." Athrun smiled, graceful and polite.

_Not amused_. Cagalli thought. Not anymore.

Gone were the days when she greeted him with an apology for waking up late yet again, before pacing around the dining room in a panicked state, while she gave him a rundown of the meetings she had to attend, of the people she had to meet, of the documents that needed immediate signing, and ultimately - it went without saying - of the time she could not afford to spend with him. In response, he would only give her an amused smile from across the table once she had calmed down. If she hadn't, he would insist that everything was fine, she did not have to be sorry.

Now, they were reduced to a string of formal greetings: a good afternoon, a hello, a how are you, and an arm outstretched, which she should take as common courtesy, but didn't.

His arm fell; his smile stayed on the spot.

How ironic was life that when they both were truly sorry, neither bothered offering an apology.

Athrun Zala had not changed so much, at least not much in the physical department. His midnight blue hair still fell in the same way and length, just like the ingrained picture at the back of her brain. His green eyes still looked as if a thousand hamsters ran in cycles behind them, still thoughtful, pensive, just like the eyes she had in her fleeting memory, which disappeared as quickly as the shutter speed of Miriallia's camera, set to automatic in broad daylight. His shoulders were slightly broader and he had grown some inches taller. Cagalli could probably make a decent estimate of the number, had she not stood at two arm's length away from him.

She flashed a grin. Athrun's vision clouded with surprise in a tenth of a second.

"Fancy having lunch with me, Athrun?" asked Cagalli, head tilted to one side, as if challenging him.

Athrun returned a grin. "If you don't mind."

"Certainly," said Cagalli, turning around towards her desk, "Let me just get my car keys."

"You drive?"

She faced him and twirled the key ring in her right forefinger. "You mustn't think so little of me, you know?"

Heading towards the door, Cagalli signalled a hand and Athrun was right behind her in a heartbeat.

"Does Kisaka know about this?" asked Athrun.

Cagalli sniggered. "Admiral Kisaka is far too busy running after the hoard of insolent, new military recruits."

"So you mean to say you are free to go out and about?"

Athrun brought his gaze lower with an arched eyebrow. The height difference proved annoying to Cagalli, as she was forced to crane her neck to meet him properly. When before she reached his eyes, now, the top of her head merely reached his lips.

"Kisaka's top priority right now is Orb's safety, not mine," said Cagalli, giving a small wave at Emma, as they passed her desk. "What's the use of an alive and kicking head rep, when the inhabitants of the nation are all buried and burned six feet underground?"

When Athrun didn't respond, Cagalli continued, "If you're asking about bodyguards Councilman Zala, they're scattered all over the place and always on the lookout wherever I go."

She stopped in front of a black sports car similar to the one Athrun had, during his stay in Orb. "Ahh, here we are."

"Yours?"

"Who else's?"

The moment Cagalli gunned the engine and sped away from the Parliament Building, Athrun had not uttered a single word. And so, neither did she.

Once, twice, the car would stand still when the traffic light flashed red. Cagalli would drum her fingers on the steering wheel, would glance at the rear view mirror out of habit, and once, twice, thrice, she caught Athrun discreetly looking at her from the corner of his eyes.

_Discreetly_. Not discreet enough.

Unperturbed, she swung her head to face him and said, flatly, "Staring is rude, Councilman."

"I was merely admiring your driving skills, Representative," he said, casually playful, bringing his attention back on the road.

Cagalli's eyes lingered at him longer than necessary. The bridge of his nose was even more prominent from a sideward perspective. His complexion, pale and still smooth when viewed from half a metre's distance. His lips. Were they still like before?

He was familiar; every inch of him screamed so.

The car behind them honked and Cagalli gave a jerk that Athrun didn't miss.

"Are you okay?" His eyebrows drew closer to one another.

"Yyeah," she stammered and stepped on the gas at once.

His presence, on the other hand, was foreign and shocking to the core.

0

He pulled the chair out for her. How gentlemanly. How, how. Odd.

It was a scene that repeated over and over Cagalli's mind once they were comfortably settled in a rather private corner of _The State Banquet_, a restaurant situated at the upper side of the city, which she frequented, with visiting delegates and leaders from other nations.

The waiter arrived soon, manoeuvring a trolley before their table. Two glasses of water. Starters. His, baked crostini garnished with tomatoes and olives. Hers, baked mushrooms with a ricotta cheese stuffing.

Once the plates were served, they did a mimicry of each other's movements. Athrun picked up a knife and fork. Cagalli poked around her plate with elegance before running her fork entirely on a piece of mushroom.

Their movements were reserved and calm. The air was silent, not stilted, not suffocating, but regal.

When before, she would reach for the bottle of chilli sauce and aim at his face, now, there was not even a single soul of chilli sauce that she could see.

"I didn't expect to dine here," Athrun spoke all too suddenly.

Cagalli looked up from her food and blinked, "Is the food bad?"

He shook his head. "Lovely, actually. It's just." Cagalli could feel her stomach twist and pause from all of its digestion duties, as Athrun's eyes caught hers in one frozen moment. "I was expecting kebabs and chilli sauce all over my face."

He chuckled. Athrun chuckled. And thought of the same thing as she did. What was the world coming to? Cagalli could only hope that the confident façade she fought so desperately hard to keep would not fall.

Swallowing whatever it was that stuck like a plague in her throat, she replied, "Ahh, but things have changed Athrun, you're Councillor Athrun Zala of the PLANT Supreme Council now."

He didn't speak a word. Neither did she.

Two flutes. A bottle of red wine. Main course. Both sirloin steak, both medium cooked. Two bowls of salad. Two buttered jacket potatoes. Two small ramekins of cheese soufflés.

Medium cooked steak? Red wine? Whatever happened to the stuffed cabbages and kebabs from the street vendors in the high street? What was the world coming to?

She regarded him for a second, two, before something unexplainable pooled at the bottom of her stomach.

It was only then, when she stared at him unflinchingly from across the table that Cagalli finally understood Miriallia's temporary abandonment of journalistic decorum, nonchalantly preferring the colloquial "ex" to the more eloquent "former", as a means to describe the man before her.

Was there even a need to think of euphemisms or eloquence, she wondered, when not even the sunshine could tamper the heavy feeling that went with knowing, that Athrun Zala was now, indeed, an _ex-_tinct memory.

The realisation was deafening.

"I see you're well and healthy," said Athrun. There was a slight rise of intonation at the end of his statement that almost posed his words as a doubtful question.

If it weren't for his efforts to speak first, Cagalli might have turned into stone.

Athrun, two. Cagalli, nil, zilch, zero, nada! Didn't she just promise to win?

Cagalli clicked her tongue. "I don't see why not," she said. Gingerly, she picked up the cutlery and resumed cutting the meat. "Were you expecting to see sullen eyes bulging from a sorry state of stick and bones?"

Athrun, two. Cagalli, one. _Yes! _

Athrun reached for his glass of water. "Of course not."

She watched him drink from behind her eyelashes. She continued, her tone was formal, and each word she uttered carried a weight that was almost callous to hear. "If you must know, Councilman Zala." _Back to surname calling, aren't we?_ A voice inside her chided. Shut. Up. "Since the World Treaty in Alaska eons ago, I have been sleeping an average of 7 hours a day, have been eating healthy meals in regular intervals."

Biting her inner cheeks, Cagalli tried to contain the fumes that had been threatening to erupt soon. Yes, she was offended that he made a comment about her being healthy. Yes, it was petty to stress out over something that was true. But the way in which he said it, tone and all, felt as if, her healthy state came as a stupid, stupid surprise.

Inhaling, Cagalli asked, "Enough about me. How are you and Meyrin doing?" She ducked to her right side and zipped her bag open, revealing the tacky copy of Glitter Weekly. She placed it on the centre of the table. "Turn to page 55."

Bewildered green eyes looked at her, unblinking.

_Holy shit._ Cagalli wished that her façade was still kept intact after the silly act she just pulled. She didn't mean it, but in her tampered anger, the '-Meyrin doing' and 'turn to page 55' parts of her statements came out rough. Too rough.

Athrun, three. Cagalli, zero. Right minus wrong; she swung this way.

When he gave no indication that he would reply anytime soon, Cagalli brought her head down and nudged the potato on her plate. "Sorry, it wasn't my place to ask."

"It's fine," said Athrun, in a baritone voice. "We're okay, I guess. Taking things slowly. One step at a time."

She meekly nodded and made no effort to spare him a glance.

Athrun reached for the magazine and flipped to page 55 with indifference. "Are you jealous?"

Before Athrun could blink, and even before her heart proceeded to its next beat, Cagalli shot her head up and almost exclaimed, "No!"

There was a glint in Athrun's eyes that she hated so, so much.

"No," she repeated. "I have no right to be." At this, Athrun's face lost its mischief. Slowly, she continued, "I am married."

"I see no ring," he countered. His voice was swift. Almost cutting.

Cagalli bit her lips.

Athrun, four. Cagalli, negative infinity.

"I am married to ORB, silly."

The silence that engulfed them, felt longer than eternity.

0

Casting one last look on the space shuttle speeding above the horizons, the corner of Cagalli's lips quivered into a knowing smile. The harsh fluorescence of the chandelier glared against the bay window of her study, intermingling with her own reflection, into a whirlpool of warm liquid that burned and blurred her vision.

She shivered. Her smile grew wider, as one hand reached for her forehead, her eyelids, her cheeks, and then finally, her lips.

Her left hand remained still at the side, clutching to a creamy white envelope, decorated at the back with swirls on the top left and bottom right corners.

Cagalli lingered on her reflection.

_It hurt_.

She could not see herself anymore.

0

_She stared at the mounted frame and saw nothing. _

[Exeunt]

* * *

><p><strong>Preview, Chapter Two:<strong> Two in One

It wasn't a question of whether she could, but, of whether she _would. _

Because truth be told, she could pull a stunt like Athrun's - assume a new identity, run to someplace new and insist on being someone who never existed, and maybe, live happily ever after with him. Or one like Kira's - live in recluse, pretend to be mute, deaf and blind, and watch the waves idly recede to and fro. Or even one like Lacus' - cook for the orphaned children, sing lullabies and pick flowers.

She could do all that. Leave her position as Head Representative and fly.

Only she wouldn't.

"Stop crying, Miriallia," said Cagalli, wincing as the antiseptic cream took effect. "I'm not dead yet."

* * *

><p><strong>Notes: <strong>

Apologies if I had to end their little lunch abruptly. There would be a small continuation to that, in the next chapter, because I didn't want Athrun's viewpoint snooping around in a chapter which I believed would always be Cagalli-centric.

A little note on the prologue. If you got confused, no worries, the fault was entirely on the frustrated writer within me. I guess the only thing I could help you with would be this: _**all sections written in italics are the only ones to be taken literally**_. The rest are up to your own interpretation. After all, the prologue was only meant to introduce the themes I would like to touch upon here in TPS.

Not sure how noticeable it was, but this chapter ended with a line from the prologue, as each subsequent chapter would in the future.

Also, if the prologue was a mere introduction, this first chapter only existed to introduce Cagalli's friendship with Miriallia and (supposedly) juxtapose it to how she interacted with Athrun after yearsss of absence. And also, a small peek as to how Kisaka and the rest of the other perceived Cagalli, _now_.

Whether I've done all these successfully is questionable, but hey, a girl can dream.

And so, if you have any questions, violent reactions and tomatoes to throw, review! (Rotten tomatoes will still be binned, however.)

See you all in chapter two, where the others finally make their appearances and Cagalli's makeshift world starts crumbling.

THANK YOU THANK YOUUUUUU~!

P.S. I will never post a new chapter at ungodly hours again. My head hurts. And chances are, even after various revisions, errors run wild.

P.P.S. I usually lurk in tumblr (rinaissance) and Pottermore (WalnutQuill122), so if I don't update anytime soon, you know where to find me.


	3. Two In One

In which Athrun assumes everything is still fine, Miriallia loves, Cagalli hopes and Kira, Lacus, Murrue, Mwu and Andy briefly appear.

And… in which _I_ struggle to write. My writing style for this fanfic had greatly suffered after months of absence. Please forgive me.

And again, this chapter is for **Drair**.

* * *

><p><strong>THE PUPPET SHOW<strong>

By: rinaissance

.

There is a difference between resignation and contentment, Cagalli thinks, as she convinces herself that a life without them can be just as wonderful, and that loving Athrun Zala does not mean needing him.

.

Chapter Two: Two-in-One

.

Monday, 7th of May CE 78

"Were you expecting to see sullen eyes bulging from a sorry state of stick and bones?"

His throat felt dry. "Of course not," he lied.

He worried for nothing, it seemed. Kira and Lacus worried themselves to death, over her three years of silence, for nothing.

"-have been eating healthy meals in regular intervals," Cagalli prattled. Or said. Pretty much everything she had said following her retort on his query about her health, sounded nothing more than a swishing blur to his ears.

He thought, _they_ thought, that the glow in her appearance, from what they had seen in television, magazines and newspapers, was merely a figment of their imaginations. That the absence of dark circles under her eyes was the touch of her personal stylist. And that the poised stature that she carried in the eyes of the public was a mask honed from habit, a mask existing to serve its political purpose for the benefit of its owner. At least these had been the set-ups he had grown accustomed to when he served under her as Alex Dino. And today, he certainly hadn't expected her to prove him wrong.

It would be unfair of him to wish that she had not changed. Why would he? When he only wanted for her to stay healthy and… happy.

"Enough about me. How are you and Meyrin doing?"

Only Cagalli, was capable of doing that - catching him off-guard, and proving how much of his military training was rendered useless whenever she was nearby. Athrun didn't have time to respond before he dealt another blow that brought him another peg down.

Paparazzi photos of him and Meyrin were strewn across a double page of a rather tacky magazine Athrun would have never imagined Cagalli reading. It was laughable, how the media could rave over photos that didn't mean anything at all. Most of the shots were blurred, and the clear ones only had their backs. Truly, those photos existed to mock the lack of photographic skills, and not a failed scrutiny of his private life.

Surely Cagalli didn't believe such a thing. Or did she?

Athrun looked back at her, unblinking. His assumption was proven wrong when she hung her head low, a response that was reserved for times when she was embarrassed of her actions.

He smiled. "Are you jealous?"

"NO!" She shot back defiantly.

Bingo. It was difficult not to laugh, especially not when this particular scene reminded him of the old days when he would successfully aggravate her nerves. The only difference this time, was the absence of chilli sauce all over his face.

"No, I have no right to be," she added.

He faltered, choking on his own smile.

"I am married."

He didn't know what it was that made his heart drop, but if someone were to hold him at gunpoint at that instant, he wouldn't have a chance to defend himself. His feet was rooted entirely on the spot.

"I see no ring," he spat. He knew it came off as a cutting remark, but it was taking all of his self-control to keep the civility between them intact.

"I am married to ORB, silly."

Not one word was spoken throughout the rest of their meal, except for that one time when Cagalli commented about her choice of dessert - chocolate mousse - nothing he wasn't aware of.

"Here," was the first word he uttered after several minutes of deafening silence. He extended his arm towards her, and Cagalli's eyes were filled with mixed curiosity and hesitation. "From Kira and Lacus."

"What's -?"

"I'll see you soon," he interrupted. "I have to go back now."

"Ath-"

He quickly bent over the table and planted a chaste kiss on her lips. He hadn't intended on doing that, but he hadn't expected Cagalli to poke fun at him either. This impulsive approach stunned her, and Athrun wasn't sure if it was her reaction now or her joke earlier that aggravated him so.

Was this how she wanted to play it? Pretend as if they were merely acquaintances? Then so be it. He had wasted enough time figuring out what he wanted. And now he was reserving a lifetime to finally get it.

o

With one last grimace at the shuttle zooming among the clouds, Cagalli had decided that it was best to bury today's mishaps beneath the stack of folders and documents awaiting on her desk. In that way, she wouldn't have to acknowledge that Athrun Zala had indeed visited her, and that she had lunch with him, and that had he stayed here for an hour longer, she would have forgotten about the terrain of papers that needed immediate signing. And god forbid, if he had stayed overnight, she might have considered abandoning her responsibility.

"Back to work," she sighed, "but not before this one is completely sorted out."

Settling down in an unceremonious fashion on a nearby couch, shoes discarded, feet propped onto the armrest, she held the now slightly crumpled white envelope against the chandelier, casting shadows on her face. Was this karma, she wondered, with half interest and half anger.

15 February CE 78, the date the envelope was stamped with in a miniscule print. Perhaps it was out of frustration that she tore one side of the envelope instead of gently opening it from the flap. The neatly folded paper fell on her face with a soft flop and within five seconds of freedom, it had crumpled under her grasp, leaving only the words 'You have been cordially invited to -' in an elegant script, and the elaborate Victorian border of the invitation.

She had expected this, just as much as she had expected Murrue's and Mwu's forthcoming matrimonial union by the end of August. _They_ need not to make a public announcement just to assure the universe that they were indeed dating. It was a well-known fact, a fact that may have initially shocked many, given that the PLANT's beloved chairwoman was known to be engaged to a certain Councilman, and not a Commander, not the head of her personal security, and certainly not to a Gundam pilot who had taken the lives of their own people too many. (That last fact, the public did not have to know. Sometimes, Cagalli marvelled at how much bitterness could do to her train of thoughts.) It was a shock, alright, but the relationship between them was kindly regarded as soon as they came out in the open.

"Chairwoman Clyne and Commander Yamato," Cagalli murmured to herself, while smoothing down the creases of the paper on top of her stomach. She paused, eyes boring into the ceiling and ears perking up to the sound of nothing around her. With a small quiver in her voice, she asked, as if bewildered at the sudden conclusion formed from her momentary silence. "I am happy for them, aren't I?"

She should be happy - there was no argument in that. So how was it possible that when the words Chairwoman Clyne and Commander Yamato escaped from her lips, did it feel that this was a wedding like any other, simply a union of two high ranking politicians she would be forced to attend?

"Lacus Clyne and Kira Yamato," she said, voice firming. It was getting better.

But she should only settle for the best, so Cagalli amended, "Lacus and Kira."

She felt a heavy burden lifted off from her shoulders when she felt a smile stretching across her face. Heart-warming was the smile that when someone had knocked on her office door, Emma most likely, Cagalli had not attempted to retract from her ill-mannered position.

"Representative?" came the perpetually uneasy voice of her secretary.

Cagalli turned her head enough to fully see Emma's head sticking out of the door. Rolling her eyes, she corrected, "It's Cagalli to you! And I don't bite, seriously!"

Emma walked towards Cagalli, still uneasy and slow in her approach, but at least she wasn't taking shelter behind the folders she was carrying.

"Good afternoon Cagalli," greeted Emma.

"Now we're talking," she replied, still wearing the smile from earlier and still lying comfortably on the couch. "Good news? Bad news?"

"Nothing newsworthy in particular. These folders are files that you have asked me to compile with regards to the board's recent proposition on VAT increase." Cagalli raised an eyebrow, suspicious of Emma's next words. But she knew, just from looking, that the older woman was suppressing a smile. "Do you remember the recently build orphanage? They have invited you for a small dinner on Friday."

"Really?"

By now, Emma's smile had grown fuller, mimicking the one on Cagalli's face, as she gave the blonde a reassuring nod. "It will be a small dinner. And you have nothing scheduled on Friday afternoon."

"Tell them I'm going and give my best regards," said Cagalli. "Thank you as always, Emma."

Emma bowed in response and headed towards the exit when Cagalli called for her again.

"Cancel all my reservations for next week and instead, book me two seats on the first shuttle bound for December City on Monday morning. If this is not possible in such short notice, I'm taking the private shuttle." Cagalli ignored the dubious look on Emma's face and continued, "Also, contact The Orb Times and tell them that Miriallia Haw will not be reporting for duty until the 25th of May."

"Cagalli, is there - ?"

"There should be no problem with my schedule for the next two weeks, is there?" Emma shook her head. At this, Cagalli's smile fell into a half one. "Figured. I've booked this two week holiday last year, albeit for a different reason."

"Is that all?"

She nodded, before saying, "Thank you ever so much."

When her secretary had exited the room, Cagalli stared at the ceiling again, ignoring the throbbing sensation on her forehead.

"Lacus and Kira," she said, attempting to recover the happiness she felt earlier. "Marrying on the 18th of May CE 78."

Suspecting that the date of their impending wedding had affected her mood a little bit, she repeated, "Lacus and Kira."

After much contemplation and sounding completely like a broken record, she opened her mouth again warily, as if she were estimating the temperature of the sea water with the tip of her toes whenever Miriallia suggested swimming.

She swallowed the block of ambiguity residing in her throat and said, barely managing a whisper -

"Athrun."

- before the weight of both her palms fell upon her face, heavier than her responsibility as Chief Representative of ORB. Cagalli didn't know where the sudden bout of unexplainable uncertainty came from, but one thing was for sure, saying his name felt worse than saying 'Chairwoman Clyne and Commander Yamato'.

o

Friday, 11th of May CE 78

Miriallia didn't quite understand the change in her schedule, so it came as a surprise when the News Editor for The ORB Times had requested her presence on Saturday morning, instead of the previously agreed Monday meeting. Not that this unexpected change disappointed her, because if anything, this gave her the time to fully enjoy the weekend.

The trip to the South African Union was everything she expected it would be. Having recently been hit by a typhoon, the place reminded her of the days of war. Families were torn apart, children were crying, houses were destroyed. Nothing seemed different from the bodies, countries, spaceships and colonies long discarded, and so sometimes she wondered if peace was not a state of mind, but merely an emotion, a fleeting experience that would be conquered by something else superior.

It was during those times, when she scavenged the entirety of the universe for newsworthy events, that she would be reminded of the weight on Cagalli's shoulders. Just because they had signed a World Treaty didn't mean no more tears would be shed or no more homes would be destroyed. Life after the war didn't mean a future or a tomorrow, it only guaranteed a "today".

And so she and Cagalli, lived their lives as it is. On weekdays, she would be this struggling photojournalist for a local newspaper and Cagalli would be Orb Chief Representative. On weekends, she was the target of Cagalli's projectiles, the paper bag of her pent up emotions; and Cagalli was this thick-skinned freeloader who listened to her tirades through numerous units of alcohol. Perhaps they did not consider living their lives to the fullest, but did it matter? Despite the things they could not have, they felt contented.

Humming a happy tune, Miriallia took short strides from her kitchen counter to her dining table, donning a frilly cupcake printed apron with matching oven mittens. It was one of the many gifts that she had received from Cagalli, who had given it to her for two reasons. One, to ridicule and two: _"__Here you are Miriallia,__"__ said Cagalli, __"__So that you may find yourself motivated to cook… edible food."_

It wasn't a malicious comment, but trust a politician to keep an insult well executed under the pretense of an amiable tone. That comment earned Cagalli a playful blow on the head… And that impulsive action would have thrown Miriallia into jail, had Cagalli not scared the hell out of the bodyguards, threatening to drop them off in the middle of the Pacific Ocean if they ever tried and touched the tip of her hair.

Glancing at the wall clock, Miriallia tapped her foot and tautly curled her lips outwards, growing a little anxious at the late arrival of her guest.

"Where in devil's name is that she devil?" She picked up her phone and held number one for a moment, before the name 'Head Rep' came into screen.

"On my way."

Relief spread through Miriallia when Cagalli had picked up her phone in a heartbeat. "Did you bring food?"

Cagalli groaned. "Do I really have to?"

"Unless you want me to live off a concoction of sugar in boiling water until my next pay day, then well yes, I am expecting you to."

Cagalli chuckled. "I don't see the difference, considering you live off either boiled or fried eggs."

"Don't push it, Head Rep," replied Miriallia through gritted teeth. "You're the bureaucrat who's raking all the money in. I am merely an adequately paid journalist, who tolerates you imposing on my generosity!"

A couple of seconds lapsed before Cagalli had made a response. "Wait, I'm at your apartment complex now. See you in a few."

True to her words, Cagalli arrived soon, banging on the door instead of using the doorbell. For a moment, when she pried her main door open, Miriallia thought the world had gone mad. "Seriously?" she asked, eyebrows quirked.

There stood Cagalli Yula Athha in the most ridiculous outfit she had seen her in. A humanised peacock gone horribly wrong, lips curled into a grimace, wearing a pair of sunglasses and a feathery floppy pink hat, with a pink furry scarf.

"What's with the floppy hat and shades at…" Miriallia looked at her wristwatch. "Eleven in the evening?" An ungraceful snort came off her as she bit her lip, trying to contain her fit of giggles, but obviously failing.

"It's my disguise."

Miriallia laughed indignantly. Despite the sunglasses covering half of Cagalli's face, she could perfectly imagine the deathly protest dangerously brewing beneath them.

"Sorry." Clutching her stomach, she continued, "I just." Hiccup, hiccup. "And here I thought wearing a neon green, permed wig wasn't atrocious enough!"

Cagalli pushed her out of the way, marching towards the lounge with heavy steps and a scornful look etched on her face. She settled on the couch cross-legged, her head swung to the opposite side, away from Miriallia.

"Right," said Miriallia, finally overcoming her fits of laughter. "Let me just get some plates."

When she returned from the kitchen, the first thing that registered into her mind was the absence of annoyance in the atmosphere. By now, Miriallia had imagined Cagalli clawing the props she had disguised herself with, muttering curses along the way, and sometimes, death threats.

"Is something the matter?" asked Miriallia cautiously. She put the plates on top of the coffee table and sat beside Cagalli, who still had her silly floppy hat on and her head turned to other side.

"Nothing, nothing at all," replied Cagalli, finally looking at Miriallia from over her shoulder. "Say, do you think I can keep this disguise the whole night?"

Now this was new, thought Miriallia, a frown creeping upon her face. She looked at their nation's leader strangely, after which, she narrowed her eyes and demanded, "Out with it now Athha."

Cagalli squirmed, looking every bit like a child caught furtively eyeing a cookie jar. But Miriallia's blue green eyes reflected the hardest edges of the sea, haughty in its demand to be looked at directly.

"Fine," said Cagalli irritably. She sighed and wearily removed all articles of abomination from her body.

Repressing a sharp gasp, Miriallia asked, "What on earth happened to you?"

Cagalli ran a hand along the circumference of her head, carefully tracing the dressing wrapped around it. She offered a rueful smile. "I visited some kids this afternoon, the new orphanage I've been talking to you about."

Miriallia nodded in understanding. Unlike Reverend Malchio's orphanage, this one housed teenagers. She shook her head in disbelief, not quite seeing the relationship between the bandaged head, bruised face, and visiting young adolescents.

So, "And?" she inquired. Miriallia knew her well enough that Cagalli wont keep mum about something as long as she bugged her to the ends of eternity.

"I played Catch with them."

Miriallia rubbed her temples, still reeling from her recent discovery. Why did interrogations with Cagalli have to run at such a snail's pace?

"And how the hell can you get battered and bruised after playing Catch?"

"Well, you see, there was a twist this time," said Cagalli, sounding casual and playful at the same time, as if getting bloody bruised after playing Catch was as normal as rejecting romantic pursuits from the male population.

"And that involves pounding you with a hammer if you fail to catch the ball?" asked Miriallia sarcastically.

Cagalli squinted her eyes and Miriallia knew there was something beneath those amber orbs that told a completely different story. "Not quite, but close enough. It was called "Catch the Murderer Game". Basically, you throw stones and bottles at Cagalli Yula Athha until she's KO-ed. Most number of hits wins!"

"You, how -"

"Their aim was surprisingly good."

It felt as if an arrow had gone straight into her heart, as cheesy as it sounded. Miriallia had known Cagalli enough that she hurt most, whenever she ridiculed and poked fun at certain aspects of her life.

Cagalli's eyelids drooped, as she fully reclined on the couch, whilst Miriallia kept a close watch of any nuance in her expression.

"Perhaps you could learn a thing or two from them," Miriallia kidded. The morbidity in her statement pooled at the pit of her stomach, feasting on her self-restraints not to cry. "None of your projectiles have worked on me recently."

Cagalli grinned. Miriallia had never been so thankful that Cagalli kept her eyes closed as fresh tears emerged from her own eyes.

"Thank you Milly," whispered Cagalli.

"Always welcome."

o

Lacus had looked at him with anxious eagerness when he entered the dining room of her villa. She must have seen the solemnity spelt across his face, for her eyebrows had creased as he continued making his way towards her. Kira Yamato greeted the other occupants of the table with a small nod and them three raised their cups of coffee to greet him back.

"Is she okay?" asked Lacus.

Kira had asked himself the same question, when Cagalli surprisingly appeared on his monitor earlier that day. Unabashed happiness surged through his system when he saw her ever impertinent smug smirk. He had been ready to give her a proper and joyous greeting, until the bruise on her left eye and the bandages on her head tampered his high spirits. When he had asked her how she was feeling, Cagalli let out a cheeky smile and brushed him off with the flick of her wrist.

Sighing, he said, "She smiled and said she's fine."

"You don't seem happy that she is," said Lacus, languidly stirring her cup of tea.

"She's sporting a bruise and an injury on the head."

This information had caught Lacus' undivided attention, so did the three guests sitting from across the table.

"Is she okay?"

Kira wasn't sure if it was Lacus' voice that he heard or his own, but he was now having a hunch that twin instincts were indeed real, as every part of him felt an awkward tinge of anxiety. Was Cagalli okay? He believed she was, although his instincts told him she was crying right now.

"I take it," started Andrew Waltfield, his eye peering through the rim of his cup. "She fell from a rollercoaster."

"Or got thrown out of a bumper car," humoured Mwu La Flaga. "Whichever is the worst case scenario."

Kira shot them a careful glare and then turned to look at Murrue Ramius, whose expression remained complacent and serene, before he slumped on the chair beside Lacus, eyes closed in concentration. She laid a hand on his unruly hair and tapped his head gently.

"It's not funny," Kira said quietly.

"It cannot be helped," Murrue offered with a sigh. "That twin sister of yours welcomes trouble with open arms and finds morbid comfort in them." Murrue spared Mwu a glance, placing a hand on top of his. "Remember that time when she was shot and strongly went against seeking professional medical help?"

Lacus gaped. "Was it an assassination attempt?"

Kira didn't like where the conversation was heading, and he still didn't know where his headache was coming from. Murrue, Mwu and Andy - these three people he had entrusted his sister with, didn't seem to mind that Cagalli's life was in danger.

And then the three of them laughed, leaving Lacus and him at a loss for words.

"No, it was merely the Chief Representative reverting to her 13 year old self, armed only with her pompous sense of self-righteousness," said Andy.

Mwu nodded and continued, "Jumped into one of those gang fights you see in news from time to time."

…And Murrue didn't waste a second to add with a feminine chuckle, "It's still a surprise how Miriallia manages to get home unscratched though."

Kira slammed his hands on the table and barked, "How can you all take this lightly?" He was a patient man, even more patient than Athrun, but when here he was, left in the dark about what had been happening to Cagalli in his absence, Kira wasn't quite as forgiving. He still possessed a great deal of self-control, but he could feel it wearing thin, despite Lacus' hands on his shoulders.

The trinity regarded his outburst with little interest. Both Andy and Mwu shrugged their shoulders. The action would have angered him further, but Murrue's lips had turned into a bittersweet frown.

"We never do. But she smiles and laughs fondly and says that it's okay, she's fine and she enjoys herself. When she does it, it's easy to forget that she has so much burden on her shoulders, and at the same time, it's easy to remember that she was just a kid who was forced to grow up too soon."

Regardless of the skills that he could parade himself with, being the ultimate coordinator and all, Kira felt a hole gnaw inside him. He hadn't experienced pain in a long while, save for the exhaustion that came from his field of work, but Murrue's revelation stung, perhaps as much as the guilt from the previous wars disturbed him. Perhaps even more.

His eyes travelled from Murrue, to Mwu, to Andy and to Lacus.

"She's coming to the wedding," he said. The rather bleak atmosphere dissipated as they all smiled at each other.

Kira wasn't stupid, though. The flash of surprise on Murrue, Mwu and Andy's faces before they erupted into their excited selves, told him there was something important he didn't know.

O

Cagalli regretted every bit of her eager self now. If she hadn't personally asked the Editor in Chief of The ORB Times to have Miriallia back in ORB by Friday afternoon, she wouldn't be put under motherly scrutiny. If she had went with their original agreement of meeting on Saturday night, the bruise on her face would have been easier to cover up, and the dressing on her head would have been discarded by then.

But no, she went against the customary and now she had to pay the price of explaining why she looked half murdered.

"Stop it Miriallia," she warned. The auburn haired woman kept her silence while she carried back the first aid kit to the bathroom. Reading people was a skill Cagalli developed throughout the years of battling her way in the hellhole that was politics, so Miriallia's silence, she immediately understood, was unearthed worry.

Being one of her close friends, maybe even the closest, Cagalli also knew exactly what was going on inside Miriallia's head. Pity.

Pity that after all these years, she still encountered people who would be more than happy to see her dead. Pity that after all the effort of stabilising peaceful relationships with other nations, there were still wounds that never healed, or scars that were easy to bleed again. Pity that after offering the entirety of herself to ORB, this ungrateful land still felt she could never be enough. Did this sorry little piece of land think she couldn't leave it hanging on the air? Damn them all.

But it wasn't really a question of whether she could, but, of whether she would.

Because truth be told, she could pull a stunt like Athrun's - assume a new identity, run to someplace new and insist on being someone who never existed, and maybe, live happily ever after with him. Or one like Kira's - live in recluse, pretend to be mute, deaf and blind, and watch the waves idly recede to and fro. Or even one like Lacus' - cook for the orphaned children, sing lullabies and pick flowers.

She could do all that. Leave her position as Head Representative and fly.

Only she wouldn't.

"Stop crying, Miriallia," she said, frustrated, wincing as the antiseptic cream took effect. "I'm not dead yet."

"I'm sorry," Miriallia had managed to respond.

"If anything, I should be the one crying here," Cagalli argued. Miriallia looked at her, confused. "Had I known you would be making hard boiled eggs, I would have brought something more suitable for human consumption."

Cagalli smirked, knowing that she had successfully pushed a button. The woeful look on Miriallia's face was replaced with utter disbelief, immediately flushing out the remnants of drama from their previous conversation.

"Beggars don't have a say on anything," Miriallia emphasised and Cagalli didn't hold back her laughter.

"By the way," she started. "How long have you known about the wedding?"

Miriallia didn't look at her and simply continued peeling the eggs on her plate. "About two or three weeks ago? When I saw them in Januarius. Certainly longer than you have." When Miriallia rose her head, Cagalli found herself staring into a pair of observant but understanding aquamarine eyes. "Mad?"

Was she? "No," Cagalli replied, and assured herself at the same time. But then Miriallia raised a suspicious eyebrow and all of her resolve wavered, so she hurriedly said, "Maybe a little."

"Good," said Miriallia. "At least now you have an inkling about what Kira would have felt had you married _the guy._"

Cagalli frowned, disapproving of Miriallia's underhanded method to raise her point, so she rebuked, "Ugh! But less than two weeks before their wedding?"

"Weren't you planning on sending them a wedding invitation two days before _your_ wedding had you actually pursued with it?" retorted Miriallia, shaking her head for added effect.

"I…"

"Well?"

Wordlessly admitting that she had lost the petty argument, Cagalli sighed and stared at the ceiling, a habit that had now become a part of her life, it seemed. "Do you have something to wear?"

"Of course."

"Excited aren't you?"

Miriallia rolled her eyes, saying, "You're one to talk. Haven't you already prepared for the 18th? You could always wear your very own wedding dress and give Lacus a run for her money."

Cagalli shot Miriallia a death glare. "And be cursed forever?"

"Aren't you already?"

Damn right, she was.

o

Monday, 14th of May CE 78

Cagalli had expected nothing less of Emma Browne. So when she and Miriallia found themselves comfortably and anxiously sat on a public shuttle to December City, she couldn't have been more pleased. Kisaka had argued about the lack of security on their method of transportation and it took several hours before Cagalli could convince him that as long as they didn't make a ruckus out of it, people wouldn't go as far as batting an eyelid at them.

Besides, her disguises always worked. Rarely did the public see her out of official and formal attire anyway and if they did see her wearing casual clothes, she was usually seen in t-shirt and trousers. And now that she wore a floral printed dress underneath a brown parka, with her blonde hair let down in soft curls, no one would have guessed she was ORB's Chief Representative.

As an added security measure, her bodyguards were all dressed up in civilian clothing, passing off as casual passengers. Upon arrival at December City, they would be closely cooperating with a group handpicked by Kira himself. It was true that Cagalli hadn't spoken or seen much of her brother over the years, but there was no way he would let her life be put in jeopardy, that much she knew.

"How do you feel?" asked Miriallia, once she had successfully buckled her seatbelt.

Cagalli wondered if her friend was mocking her, because between them (and Murrue, Mwu and Andy) this was more of a rhetorical question. But she answered anyway. "I'm good, good." She scoffed. "It feels like my tongue is producing bile, instead of my liver."

"That bitter?"

Cagalli heaved a sigh. "The 18th is supposed to be my wedding, not my twin brother's."

"Until you chickened out."

"I got cold feet."

"I'm glad you did."

"It cannot be helped."

"Of course," concluded Miriallia, "Not when you love Athrun Zala."

Surprisingly, Cagalli didn't feel the need to retaliate.

* * *

><p>Athrun is an idiot who thinks that he can prance back into Cagalli's life without going through the eye of the needle, no? I still need to warm up to him, sadly. That first part was pathetic.<p>

I hope I have dropped enough hints regarding Cagalli's marital status.

I won't apologise for subjecting you to several pages of Cagalli and Miriallia friendship. You might find it boring, but their friendship is the most enjoyable thing to write about. I hope, that in the future chapters, it will all come clear as to why I have to reiterate how strong their friendship is. Besides, don't you like the way they ease into this friendly banter without offending each other?

Also, I know we're way past the era when fanfics used to clamour for reviews (circa 2005-2007?), but I would really appreciate if you could drop a word and say how well or badly I'm doing. Like this chapter in particular. It was _very _jumpy and I struggled to keep the emotions contained.

Anyhow, writing The Puppet Show has made my life bearable in more ways than I could ever explain. See you all in the next chapter, which I'm also looking forward to, because the wheels of fate start rolling. Finalleeeh. More characters to appear, which means more headache inducing things to write about.

Thank you so much for everything!

P.S. This chapter will be edited accordingly. I still have a 40-page dissertation to write, so perhaps after then.


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